


this is no orthodox beheading

by TheFlirtMeister



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Kidnapping, Knives, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Torture, don't worry they're both into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlirtMeister/pseuds/TheFlirtMeister
Summary: “I’m not afraid of you.” Oswald says through gritted teeth.“Oswald,” Edwards tuts, and rubs the corkscrew against Oswald’s cheek. “You should be.”





	this is no orthodox beheading

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas!! have a fic about torture.

Oswald wakes in a dark room, bound to a chair. For a moment he thinks he’s back in Arkham Asylum and tries to lash out, heart pounding in his chest. Then he remembers that he escaped, that he took down Strange, that he is Oswald Cobblepot, leader of Gotham.

So why is he in this situation? Thick leather ties his hands together behind his back, and his legs are constrained with a similar binding. When he struggles, the leather gets tighter, cutting off his circulation. It’s a very ingenious way to restrain someone.

A door opens, the scraping of metal against doorframe making Oswald cringe. He tries to twist to see who it is, but the door is behind him and he can’t turn around. All he can see is the light of the outside room, and a tall shadow standing in the way.

“Well, well.”

The figure steps into the room, shoes clicking against the floor. Oswald lolls his head back and smiles up when the familiar face comes into view.

“Hello Edward.”

Edward makes a hissing noise between his teeth. He’s wearing a green suit and tie, trying to cling onto his aesthetic right down to the question mark cufflinks. Oswald could almost laugh at the attempt, if it wasn’t so pitiful.

Memories are coming back to him now. An ambush on his men, a flash of emerald against black. Edward’s gloved hands around his neck, strangling to the point of passing out. Edward can’t help himself, he’s always loved a neck.

“My name is _The Riddler_.” Edward says, his voice hoarse. “And you shall refer to me as such.”

“Yes Edward.” Oswald says sarcastically, and Edward grabs hold of his face, tilting it up towards him.

“Mr Penguin, I don’t think you’re in the position to make jokes.”

“Tying me to a chair doesn’t make you a criminal mastermind.” Oswald argues.

“No,” Edward says, “I agree with that. It’s what I’m about to do _to you_ , that will make me a criminal mastermind.”

“Are you going to tell me a riddle, and kill me if I get it wrong?” Oswald asks. “If my hands were free, I’d clap, honestly I would.”

The grip on his face gets tighter. “Shut. Up.”

“Make me.” Oswald says, and gets a slap across the face. He gasps out, the pain echoing through his body, and then twists his head to look at Edward. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Edward slaps him harder this time, with the back of his hand. The sound is loud in the quiet room, but when it dies away, both their heavy breathing is apparent. Oswald squirms in his seat and Edward drops his hand away, wiping it on his waistcoat.

“You are my greatest enemy.” Edward says, staring Oswald down.

“How special.”

“And because of that, I’m going to have to destroy you.” Edward says, slipping his fingers into his pockets. “I have an arsenal of weapons at my disposal, and I am going to take you apart, piece by piece Oswald Cobblepot.”

Oswald blinks at him lazily. Being threatened by the jolly green giant is not exactly terrifying.

“I’m not scared of you Edward.” Oswald tells him. “No matter how many riddles you tell, or outfits you wear. You’re just a man pretending to be something he’s not.”

“I could say the same for you.” Edward replies, and touches Oswald’s neck. It hurts, he must have bruising from the strangling. “Little bird.”

“Are we using pet names now?” Oswald asks, and Edward touches something on Oswald’s neck that makes him bite back a gasp of pain.

“You were bullied at school, weren’t you Oswald?” Edward continues, as if Oswald isn’t trying to rile him.

“Of course.” Oswald replies, trying to figure a way to wriggle out of the cuffs. “I was the perfect target.”

“Mm. I bet you were pushed, shoved, probably hit a few times.” Edward muses, and starts to move about the room. In the darkness, he’s hard to spot. “Little Oswald on the floor being punched over and over until he cried.”

“I never cried.” Oswald says. “I never gave them that satisfaction.”

“You’re going to be crying after I’m done with you.” Edward says, matter-of-factly. “You’re going to be begging me to stop, tears streaming down your face. What do you say to that?”

Oswald leans forward, teeth glinting in the dim light. “I say bring it on Nygma. Bring it on.”

-

“This, is a dagger.” Edward announces, flashing the silver blade in the air.

“No.” Oswald replies, “I thought it was a hat stand.”

The slap is sweet across his face, and Oswald grins up at Edward, tongue poking through his teeth. He can feel the side of his face burning, red hot to the touch. He can feel the onslaught of a nosebleed on its way as well, from a swift jab to the face that Edward gave him for being disrespectful.

“I have thought of hundreds of ways to use this on you,” Edward continues, as if he wasn’t interrupted. “There’s the obvious way, a simple plunge to the heart, and you bleed out all over the floor. But that’s easy. The poor man’s murder. I want this to be an artform.”

He flourishes his hands at the final words, and then looks down at Oswald. “How does that sound?”

“Wonderful.”

“I could cut off the ear lobe.” Edward places the cool blade behind Oswald’s ear, pin pricking the skin. It takes all of Oswald’s might not to shiver. “Or the nose. Perhaps even the tongue.”

“Why don’t you put your fingers in my mouth and find out?” Oswald asks, and Edward slips the blade easily between his open mouth.

“Oh Oswald.” Edward sighs, “It seems like that silver tongue has got you into trouble.”

The dagger is cold against Oswald’s tongue, the metal taste overpowering. Oswald stays completely still, eyes focused on Edward’s hand as he loosely holds the knife. Edward laughs at him, eyes glittering.

“Having fun?” He asks sweetly, and then tugs the blade from Oswald’s mouth. “Did you enjoy that?”

Oswald spits towards Edward who narrowly misses it. He can still taste the dagger in his mouth, the hint of old blood. He wishes he had wine to mellow the taste. Being drunk would probably make this a lot more enjoyable too.

“Now now,” Edward chastises. “Play nice Oswald.”

“Fuck you.” Oswald says, and finds the blade at his throat.

“Play the game Oswald.” Edward says, his voice casual but his eyes a different story. “Be good.”

Oswald glares at him, tilting his head back, and Edward lightly scrapes the dagger across his skin. He can feel the pricks of blood bubbling at the surface and makes a noise akin to a growl.

“You’re too easy to work up.” Edward says, and removes the knife.

Oswald gives a small sigh of relief, wishing he could reach up and rub at his neck where it itches. After that, he’d hit Edward, and give him a kick for good measure.

“Let’s look at something different.” Edward continues, picking up another metal item. Oswald peers at it in the darkness but can’t figure it out.

“This is something I’ve fantasied about.” Edward says, “But never actually got the chance to play with.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Oswald asks, and Edward brings the object down hard on Oswald’s thigh. It tears through his suit trousers, down into the flesh, and Oswald jerks forward in pain.

“The corkscrew,” Edward announces, as Oswald gasps out. “Always wanted to twist out your eyeball Oswald, but I suppose we’ll start with your thigh.”

Oswald makes a sound akin to a whimper and thrusts up his thigh to buck the corkscrew. It doesn’t work however, Edward has a good grip on the instrument, and shows no sign of removing it any time soon.

“Just imagine it,” Edward says, “Pushing this corkscrew into your eyeball, and twisting, twisting, until it popped out of the socket? I’ve always wanted to remove one of your eyeballs, but I’d never quite come up with the right tool before.

Oswald makes a howling noise, his thigh seemingly on fire. Edward gives a laugh that is almost a giggle and pulls the corkscrew out of Oswald’s flesh. He admires it, Oswald’s blood coating the metal, and then sticks out his tongue, licking some of it away.

“Fear.” He says delightedly.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Oswald says through gritted teeth.

“Oswald,” Edwards tuts, and rubs the corkscrew against Oswald’s cheek. “You should be.”

-

The kitchen blade that Edward produces from his elaborate tool set is slightly rusty. Edward sighs, shaking his head when he notices the rust, pulling a handkerchief from his waistcoat and running the blade along it.

“What a pity.” He says, “You’re about to get tetanus.”

“Oh joy.” Oswald replies, voice hoarse.

Edward finishes wiping the blade and then lightly drags it down the side of Oswald’s face. “Is this familiar to you Oswald? Not the situation, but the weapon at hand? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Last night’s dinner?”

Edward laughs. “You’re not far off. Do you remember your step family?”

Something twists in Oswald’s gut and he snarls out at Edward. Edward laughs again, taking a step back but still brandishing the kitchen knife.

“After they poisoned your father you had to take revenge. How did you kill the children? I never asked.” Edward pauses, looking at Oswald expectantly. “Share with the class please Oswald.”

“Why do you want to know?” Oswald asks.

Edward gives a small shrug. “I’m fascinated by family murder.”

“Of course you are.”

“You murdered your step siblings and fed them to your wicked step mother.” Edward states. “That’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever heard. I almost wish I’d done the same.”

“I wish someone had cooked and eaten you.” Oswald mutters and Edward’s blade is jabbed into his shoulder. “ _Fuck_.”

“Answer the question please.” Edward says brightly.

“I smothered them.” Oswald spits out. “Happy?”

 “What a boring way to kill.” Edward muses, as if strangulation isn’t his preferred disposal method. “But I suppose you had your fun with the bodies. I heard they made a beautiful roast. Good enough to eat.”

Oswald shivers at the memory. The taste of meat in his mouth, his step mother’s screen, how it had felt to slit her throat. It had been one of the greatest experiences of his life, pure cold revenge. He knows that Edward can see it too, the way it thrills him.

Oswald would eat them again, if he could.

“I was considering cutting you up too.” Edward says, resting the blade against Oswald’s wrist. “Slicing off slithers and feeding you to yourself. But then I thought, penguin’s are fatty, aren’t they? No meat at all. Just flab.”

He prods Oswald in the stomach with his finger. Oswald glares, wishing he could grab hold of Edward’s hand and twist it, breaking the bones. Then who would be laughing triumphantly?

“So, a penguin dinner is out of the question.” Edward sighs, a little mournfully. “But don’t worry. There are better things to do with a knife.”

Edwards pushes up Oswald’s sleeve, running his palm against the smooth skin. Oswald is so pale that he’s practically glowing in the darkness, every hair on his body standing on end. Edward smiles, drawing a pattern with his forefinger down Oswald’s arm.

“Are you going to draw a picture and I have to guess what it is?” Oswald asks sarcastically.

“No.” Edward replies. “I’m planning how I’m going to carve my name into your skin.”

“Oh good.” Oswald says. “I’ve always wanted the word Edward written on me permanently.”

Edward’s grip on his wrist tightens so quickly that Oswald can’t stop the shout of pain.

“My name is The Riddler.” Edward says, breathing heavily. “And I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it.”

-

It’s when Edward pulls out the pistol when things become a problem. There is blood trickling down Oswald’s hairline, and his fingernails hurt from where he’s been gripping the arms of the chair tightly.

“So, I know what you’re thinking,” Edward begins, holding the gun so loosely between his fingers that Oswald thinks he might drop it. “A gun? Really? Surely this is one of the quickest ways to kill someone, there’s no flair, no art to it. Just blam! Dead.”

“Zsasz would argue with you about that.” Oswald says weakly.

“Mm, maybe so.” Edward agrees. “But Zsasz isn’t here to have a discussion with, is he? In fact,”

Edward dramatically spins around, looking for someone who isn’t there. “Nobody else is here, are they? Nobody has come to rescue you.”

“I haven’t been gone for long.” Oswald says. “They’ll come.”

“Of course they will.” Edward says mockingly, and inspects the gun. “But for now, there are so many ways to use this beautiful creature here, that I can’t not try her out.”

Edward holds the gun up underneath Oswald’s chin, smiling. “But god I wish I could just blow your brains out right here and now.”

Oswald’s cock twitches. He tries to pretend that it didn’t just happen, twisting in his seat and trying to think about the fact that Edward has a gun and can kill him, but he can’t stop staring at Edward’s long fingers wrapped around the hilt.

“Do it.” Oswald whispers. “Coward.”

Edward leans in close, and when he speaks, his breath tickles Oswald’s face. “You just want to be put out of your misery. Like a dog that needs to be put down.”

“I just think you’re too scared to pull the trigger.” Oswald mutters back.

Edward straightens up sharply and points the gun behind Oswald’s head. When he pulls the trigger, the bullet explodes on the other side of the wall, so loudly that Oswald is deafened for a few seconds. Smoke rises in the air and Edward tilts his head to one side, looking at Oswald.

“Still think I won’t shoot you?”

“You missed.” Oswald says, and Edward shoves the gun hard into his stomach.

“Listen you fucking moron.” Edward hisses, his voice dangerously loud. “I will not hesitate to shoot you in the stomach and watch your guts spill out onto the floor as you scream in agony, understood? This is _fun_ for me, I am _enjoying_ this, I _like_ causing you pain- “

Edward stops halfway through his sentence as Oswald breathes rapidly. His cock is hardening in his trousers, and he can’t control is anymore, the way Edward talks about mutilation and murder. Their eyes are locked on to one another, green against brown.

Then, in almost slow motion, Edward’s eyes flick downwards towards Oswald’s crotch. Oswald cringes, as Edward raises his head to look up at Oswald, a grin plastered onto his face.

“Well then,” He purrs, “This is a new development.”

“It’s- Nothing.” Oswald stutters, “Just go back to… threatening me with a gun or a knife or something, just- “

Edward pulls the gun upwards, pointing it at Oswald’s face. “I heard rumours,” He says, “About the sort of things you liked Mr Cobblepot, but I never _believed_ them. Until now.”

Oswald is breathing rapidly as Edward rests the head of the gun against Oswald’s cheek. Edward’s eyes are bright and shining, and Oswald is trying to focus on the moment, and the fact that he could be killed any minute, not the stirring in his underwear.

“Zsasz had teased things.” Edward says, rubbing the gun against Oswald’s bottom lip, wet with nervous spit. “And I heard things from Fish.”

Oswald doesn’t speak.

“If I were to slip this into your mouth?” Edward asks, and Oswald dry swallows. “Would you suck it like a cock? Hmm?”

Edward’s head is tilted to one side like a curious dog. The gun is heavy against Oswald’s mouth, smelling of oil and metal. He could handle it easily, part his lips and take it down to the back of his throat, where men groaned and praised him for his lack of gag-reflex.

Oswald shakes his head. Edward smiles. He pulls the gun away from Oswald and inspects it, looking at the barrel over the top of his rectangular glasses.

“It would be obstructive in the mouth.” Edward says, “Flesh can yield but metal cannot. I suppose that’s why you like it, however. You cannot control a gun that someone else is holding.”

“I don’t trust you with firearms.” Oswald says finally, lips dry. “You have a history.”

Something flicks across Edward’s face and then disappears as quickly as it arrived. “You’re a hard man to kill. But don’t worry. I’ll succeed.”

“Sure you will.” Oswald says, just as Edward darts forward and presses the flat of his palm against Oswald’s crotch.

Oswald bucks up his hips, gasping out, and Edward _laughs_ , as if Oswald is a play thing and not a human being. His hand is a hot and heavy weight, and Oswald is powerless to his urges, rubbing himself against Edward without even thinking about it.

“Oh Oswald.” Edward croons, “Look at you. When was the last time someone touched you?”

Oswald doesn’t answer, because the last person who touched him was Edward himself, holding the front of his shirt before he pushed Oswald to his death. It has been almost years since someone took Oswald to bed, stripped him down and made him cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck- “Oswald says, trying to spit out _fuck you_ , trying to be angry, but it comes out as a pleading cry.

Edward increases the pressure, and Oswald can feel his cock throbbing. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to block out the desire seeping through him.

“Is this what you want?” Edward asks, voice loud in the darkness. “Is this what you fantasised about, when you were mayor, and I was your aide?”

Oswald squeezes his eyes tightly shut, thinking of the mansion, and his bedroom, and his hand wrapped around himself as he pictured Edward fucking him. The thoughts were sinful then and they’re sinful now, even as Edward touches him.

“Do you want this?” Edward repeats, and Oswald hears the gun click. “ _Oswald_.”

Oswald swallows. “I want this.”

He opens his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> comment if u know what asmr video this is based on


End file.
